In the Margins--Words of L. Phillips Thune

Food Personalities

  
     It's great fun having daughters...they each have their own personalities--quieter or louder, more serious or more silly, more put-together or more "elastic".  But it's been serious joy watching them grow into their own cooking personalities, too.  
     In a nutshell (!), our oldest, Merete, at one point, found boiling water a challenge.  Phone rings:  "Hi Mom, so what does "boil" mean exactly?  When it's smoking hot, or when these little bubbles are just around the edge, or is it a certain time period it's at a certain temperature...what's the deal?"  (Her father, the Engineer, is responsible for that.)
     Tiera, (the deep, still waters child), observes.  Phone rings:  "Hi Muva!  So those french fries you make, you had put some kind of spice on them before you covered them with flour...what was that?"  Who knew she was watching?  Paprika. 
     Annie--well, this is easy.  Hates cooking, hates leftovers, hates mistakes.  Make it right or she's out the door to Chipotle.
     Halla--the youngest, still at home, still in charge.  Phone rings:  "So Mommy-o, I'm going to make some no-bakes, okay?  And maybe some chocolate chip...but if I get bored, will you finish them?"
      Then there's Asha.  I can tell that the whole family has decided that if they ever need to spend a night anywhere, Asha's is the place to be--you'll get, as big sister and brother-in-law say, many "Tasty Treats."  Asha cooks for the same reason she loves vacuuming...it makes her feel good.  She's the one who will say, "Hmmm, I'm in the mood to bake."  Next thing you know, there's a few dozen cookies ready for her work the next day.  I'd like to think she got that love from me...and in some way, being able to stay home with her and her sisters when they were little and using cooking as an activity to entertain ourselves, might have helped.  But Asha says she "dreams in flavors."  Could be the diabetes talking.  She actually will invent things with spices and skinless chicken breasts and dried cherries and white chocolate chips, and so on and so on.  In fact, the call goes a little differently with her:    
     Phone rings:  "Hi Ashie, it's Mom. I just tried my first invention.  Okay, how does this sound?  I tried mixing some lime juice, ancho chile powder and melted butter and injected it into my roast chicken....do you think it'll work?" 
     You have to be in the mood for food to give that a try...
      
     

 

White-Winged Dove--The Rescue

     When time is taken to be open in mind and spirit, wonderful gifts are provided.  Unfortunately, it is hard work to remember to also be open to changing damaging patterns or habits, but that is the gift inherent in a new minute, a new hour, a new day, the constant chance to try again.
     Halla and I were leaving to go out for a lunch date (one of those rare moments when an 18-year-old daughter was in the mood to tolerate an hour or two hanging out with mom).  I heard rustling in some leaves beneath our twenty-three-year-old oak near the driveway.  A bird was trying to fly but only managed a few inches or so.  Being the fearless, courageous mom that I am, I said, "Halla, come here...do something...this bird is hurt!!"  Now we're both looking at this beautiful bird with the softest grey coloring, some black and some brilliant white color along the wings.  Halla, being the quick-thinking, scientific mind of the two of us, said, "OMG--it's got a big, gross hole in its back..."   I said maybe our vet would look at it.  At that moment, realizing taking it anywhere meant one of the two of us would have to pick it up, I said, "I wish Annie were here--she'd have grabbed it all ready!"
     But Halla hung in there; while I grabbed a box and put a towel in it, I told her to get some bread or something. (Later I found out it's better not to feed an injured animal until it's been seen at the Center.)  She tore up a whole-grain piece of tortilla.  Why that tickled me, I don't know.  I guess it reminded me of the time I was told little cups of beer would collect pill bugs from over-running a garden; my husband came home to find his stash of expensive porter spread around the flowers. He kindly suggested, "Well, good idea, not poisonous--how about some generic light beer or something next time?" 
      I finally got the number and address of the Wildlife Rescue Center on MLK, Jr. Blvd. I had two students waiting to meet with me up at ACC Cypress Campus, but I called them to let them know our mission and rescheduled for an hour later.  Halla donned a big pair of Peter's work gloves.  But each time she got close to it, it would fly up a little ways and then fall right down.  It was so sad...she tried once more--I thought maybe if I put the box where I thought it might fall...then we realized we'd need Peter to do the trajectory math calculuations of how far it can fly at its disabled speed, etc., etc.  No time for that.  Then we thought of our neighbor, Collin, who has known Halla and our family since they were in elementary school...he's a hunter; he'd know about a little bird.  Well, the hunting part seemed a bit opposite of what we were trying to accomplish, but it was all good.  Collin came over, donned Peter's gloves and tried to help catch it.  Tough little critter; it tried flying away once more, but down it came in some bushes, and Collin was able to get him out.  He looked at our box with the cozy towel and bread and said, "Are you sure you want to use that box? It might fly out."  Oh yea...we got that set up before we realized it could fly a bit.  Halla, and her father would beam with joy about this, said, "How about some duct tape?"  That seemed like cruel and unusual punishment since we'd have to spend some time punching quite a few holes in this box so it wouldn't think we were burying it alive.  So I ran in and grabbed one of the many fashionable small doggie carriers that Annie had purchased for Princess.  I think I grabbed the one she actually bought from Coach. So Collin got our new BFF into the cadillac of carriers and we were off.
     Halla seemed to think I should drive like an ambulance..."Mom, Collin said he was breathing heavy--maybe there's not much time...can't you at least go the speed limit."  Fine..I was trying to sing songs to it to let it know we were its friends, Halla was holding the carrier up so it wouldn't jostle as we went over bumps at warp speed, and we made it to the Center.
    By now, I am in love with this bird and I'd be devastated if he wasn't going to make it.  The nicest young lady came over (Stephanie?? I just can't remember), but as we filled out paperwork outside the building (no one can go in--it could bring in disease, etc.), she deftly reaches right into the carrier, WITH HER BARE HANDS, and starts checking out our bird.  "Hey little fella, what happened--something got to you; you seem to be well fed.  (I bragged about the whole grain tortilla Halla got.) She said it was so fortunate we got him there so soon, no time for flies (ewwww) to have gotten to the big wound on its back. And a lot of birds come to them nearly starved.  She sprayed antiseptic on its would and then fed him some medicine..."I know it doesn't taste great, but it is good for you...good job!"  I just love people who talk to animals like little kids!!!  She then let us know that he would be treated initially there, then off to a rehabilitation center to get well, then in about three months when he should be nicely healed up, he'll be taken to a safe-release site where there's no danger of him being shot.  I was so happy.  I think Halla wanted to adopt him to live in our back yard.
     But the magical part?  At first our bird was thought to be a mourning dove, but then quickly corrected to be a white-winged dove.  My favorite singer is Stevie Nicks.  So I'm going to call him Stevie and check on him while he's recouperating.  I also looked up some information about the white-winged dove.  It is considered a symbol of the spirit leaving the body at death.  Stevie Nicks ended up writing the song for her producer and friend, Jimmy Iovine who was also a best friend of John Lennon.  Lennon died in December, 1980, and Jimmy was inconsolable; Stevie, as the story goes, tried to comfort him, but there was nothing that could be done or said to break through the silence; she left for Arizona to be with her dying uncle, who died holding her hand and her younger cousin's, that same week as Lennon.    (http://www.nicksfix.com/sun7-17-1991.htm)

The white-winged dove, about the same size as our
mourning dove, is considered loveliest of all. Its plumage is soft and gray
overall, with white upper wing coverts that are conspicuous in flight -- wings
outlined with white.  www.desertmuseum.org



Well I hear you in the morning...
And I hear you...
At nightfall...
Sometimes to be near you...
Is to be unable... to hear you...
My love...
I'm a few years older than you...
My love

Just like the white winged dove...
Sings a song...
Sounds like shes singing...       
                                              Stevie Nicks

I could feel Annie being very excited and telling the angels about Halla and me and Collin today and our mission to save one lovely dove.  But then again, I see her almost everywhere and in everything...I just have to be ever open. 

By the way, we ended up donating the Coach carrier (that I'm sure Annie and Princess would approve of) to the Wildlife Rescue Center, along with a small monetary donation. They often need ways to transport the small animals. Please feel free to check out their website: http://www.austinwildliferescue.org.  There are many types of donations they collect and could use information on how they can expand.

Much love and thanks to my surrogate son, Collin; to my bravest girl when the going gets tricky (except for catching a cricket), my Halla; to Asha who made sure we went to the right place. And to Annie--who made me change the way I look at birds forever.
MWAH!